Everything in moderation. Except, you know, when it’s everything in excess

Do you have a really awesome group of friends that you hang with regularly?  Does this same group get together a few times a year for a getaway?  Like to a cottage or something?  I hope you do.  I feel very fortunate to count myself in the “those who do” category, and this past weekend was one of those getaway weekends and it was seriously what the doctor ordered to crack the nut of February. 

Thursday night I headed up to Grey County to get my fun on with my nearest and dearest.  Girls only, no boys allowed.  Pretty rad.  There was much merriment in the form of hot tubbing, snowshoeing, eating and drinking, sleeping late and dancing to iPods.  There were magazines consumed and a whole lotta chitchat and let me tell you, does that kind of shiz rejuvenate the soul.  Loads of fun, relaxation and belly laughs.  Nothing better.

Except maybe for coming home to a house full of my boys.  My boys who threw their coats and boots on to meet me at the sidewalk and help me carry my stuff inside.  My boys who hugged me so tight once I got in the door and told me they missed me SO MUCH.  Who then took off to watch TV and yell at me from the living room:  “Mummy can I play the Wii??”  Aw yeah.  It was good to be home.

So while it was fun and games and joy and overconsumption of food and drink and it was awesome, I actually learned something.  I learned that I am too old for that kind of fun.  Well, not the fun part exactly – more like the “overconsumption of food and drink” part.  That part?  Needs to stop.  For me.  I discovered that it is just not worth it to throw that kind of caution to the wind anymore, that I am too old or something to start drinking at 10am, all while eating chips and guacamole and cupcakes and other varieties of ridonkulously delicious and tasty and heartburn-inducing foods.  Oy.  Is it age?  I don’t know, but I do know that I’ve spent the last couple of days being extremely uncomfortable and craving chick peas and water.  Which is good, I guess.  But I also realized that that much time away from training at the dojo is also not a good idea.  Snowshoeing and dance partying aside, it was pretty much a zero-movement kind of weekend.  And getting back to kickboxing and karate afterwards was painful.  And not just the regular painful, but like a super-ultra painful, the kind one experiences when one is first starting to exercise.  And I did not enjoy it.

So.  To sum up?  Cottage weekend with friends – yay!  Eating and drinking too much and slugging around for three days – boo!  Never gonna give up my friend weekends, but I am going to have to modify my intake.  Which, you know, almost takes the fun out of everything.  But I can do it.  I can be that responsible adult who knows when to say when.  I know I can.  And thankfully it’s not the friends giving me heartburn.  Then we’d have a problem.

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